” There was a long silence. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. He had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. Montague Hill. Old Newgate 302 X.
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